……

攀桥花

你可知攀桥面对乌漆铁栅

你可知宿处不为天然泥崖

不留意鸟歌高不过喇叭

只在乎泥印密不过白花

你吻过泥板灰墙

告别他的掩夹

你拥上尖埃旧梁

还要展却枝丫

近看天色多日沉霞

不比前月胭华

近闻人声多言愁话

不比前时笑洽

指点轮辙辗过绒花

指点红灯笛鸣吹沙

你可见暗色言语人车深压

等待淡化

等待你描尘抹泥的白花

Creeping Bridge Flowers

Do you know you face ink-black iron bars

Do you know your bed’s not natural clay and stars

Heedless that birdsong fades beneath urban calls

Caring only that mud prints out bloom petals’ falls

You’ve kissed earthen boards and ashen walls goodbye

Released their sheltering hold with a sigh

You’ve embraced ancient beams dusted with time

Yet still unfold branches in their prime

Nearby skies hold sunset’s fading grace

Less fair than last month’s rosy face

Nearby voices whisper sorrow’s trace

Less sweet than former joy’s embrace

Watch wheel tracks crush velvet blooms below

Watch red lights and whistles stir dust’s flow

See you not how dark words, crowds, and cars oppress

Waiting to fade away

Waiting for your white flowers to cleanse time’s clay

凝固北岸

过了桥就是荒芜

没有安排霞暮的洼沟

与多少声音的凝固

探下去就是水沽

乌鸦旧羽的藏处

你向前去绕过柳树

墨色滩上有你新掉落的意物

你若愿意谨心深入

他便换了颜色尝试着清楚

即使他呜咽将你救赎

你留下的足迹也终究模糊

你在亭下止步的时候

多少双眼见你与他们一样

知晓了自己的短处

别在黑白里分却词数

快走出去写下你

化开沉默的第一眼斑斓

Frozen North Bank

Beyond the bridge, desolation reigns

No twilight pools in hollowed plains

Where countless voices freeze in time

Beneath lies waters old as rhyme

Where crow feathers seek their rest

Moving past willows, heading west

Your fresh thoughts fall on ink dark shore

Should you venture deeper and explore

It shifts its hues toward clarity’s door

Though its weeping might set you free

Your footprints fade eventually

When beneath the pavilion you pause

Many eyes see you as their own because

All share the same mortal flaws

Count not words in shadow and light

Hurry forth and write your flight

Breaking silence with color’s first bright

若芙蓉

你再倾向我吧

我见你在高处开花

你莫急转向东啊

呼喊的西边我刚到达

在转角里与灰尘挣扎

争先来见你呀

你再转头向西吧

我向你近来诉答

你念我回眸笑狭

我念你轻胭掩枝丫

我回时

你朝东南倒下

亲近你发紫的先霎

那些岁月不知晓的涂鸦

长久里只与石台相融洽

你能再把影子擎上檐狭

我能再见你青枝胭花

我的私心挺重的

写了千万个你呀

来证示世上有个我吧

Like Lotus

Turn to me once more,

 I prayI see you flowering high away

Don’t rush eastward on your path

The calling west I’ve reached at last

Wrestling dust at every turn

Racing forth your grace to learn

Turn westward once again my wayI come with tales of yesterday

You speak of my shy, turning smile

I dream of your rouge style

Upon return, my heart grows still

You’ve fallen southeast on the hill

Embracing your first purple sheen

Those years’ forgotten scribbles seen

Long melded with stone steps serene

Could your shadow grace the eaves again

Could I glimpse your rose-bloom sway

My heart holds such selfishness deep

I’ve written countless yours to keep

To prove I exist in this world’s sweep

上窗叶

我可能用相遇定义你重新的青绿

我可能见你在昨年的桥底

抚波摆碧

你没停过抚摸砖梯

风没逃过绕转停息

我没停过顺的风来找你

我想我只能矮矮地看你

用高大的思想触及

我想我只能跟青草论高低

我想我要继续深去

见到根柄堆积

才是我储藏心理的坚璧

是的，我携着未名的物体

藏我过去不合实际的思想于根底

我想来年一些成了旁花

再见回忆

在夜里凋落离去

一些成了果

我要它成熟 成为实际

Leaves at the Window

Perhaps I define your renewed emerald

Through the lens of our chance meeting

Perhaps I saw you beneath last year’s bridge

Caressing waves with grace greeting

Never have you ceased stroking stone steps

Never has wind escaped its rest

Never have I stopped seeking you with gentle breeze

I know I can only gaze up at you from below

Reaching toward you with lofty thoughts

I can only measure height with grass so low

I long to venture deeper still

Where stems and stalks amass until

I find the fortress where my heart’s thoughts spill

I carry unnamed treasures deep

Bury my impractical dreams where roots sleep

Some may bloom as flowers next year

When memories appear

Falling away in night’s sphere

Some will fruit in time

I wish them ripe with truth sublime

落绿叶

只有我在人群中低头见你

只有我不再仰头谈戏

我也在雨中与些许人分离

独自走入世间的缝隙

试探自己的支撑力

在那里

我们不须躬身前去

拈起他人遗弃的颗粒

将其在耻笑者的背后堆积

最后成了影子

束缚着我们位移

雨天里

陷困者的脚步走得如此容易

扑向一只没有尾翼的鸟

倒在耻笑者的影子里被人遗弃

扯下一片绿叶

止塞最后的哭泣

Falling Green Leaves

Only I in crowds bow to see you there

Only I no longer look up for flair

I too part from some in rain’s domain

Walking alone through worldly seams

Testing the strength that holds my dreams

There

We need not bow to proceed

To gather grains others leave

Pile them behind mockers’ backs with care

Until we become shadows that bind

Restricting where we’re inclined

In rainy days

The trapped walk with such ease

Rushing toward a wingless bird

Falling forgotten in scorners’ shadows

Plucking one green leaf to seal

The final tears we feel

Su Yun, whose real name is Chen Ruizhe, he is a 17-year-old poet. He is the member of the Chinese Poetry Society. His works have been published in more than ten countries, including the poetry collections “Spreading All Things” and “Wise Language Philosophy” in China, and the poetry collection “WITH ECSTASY OF MUSING IN TRANQUILITY” in India. He won the 2024 Guido Gozzano Apple Orchard Award in Italy.   

The Heart Needs no Pen or Paper

You are there and I am here
We write to each other every day
It’s second nature now to pick up my pen
but today no new words come to me
I know my heartbeat leads to you
And no doubt that yours beats for me too
Sometimes we need not even speak at all
For what is in the heart needs no lines
It beats without effort as does our love
But you’re still in my every thought
And when I wake, I know you are still mine
If I get no letter from you today, I do not fret
For a letter can’t take the place of what is in your heart
And what is in your heart needs no pen or paper
I can always feel your love, regardless… And I smile. 


Alone…

Loneliness and sadness grew in my heart without you

I tried to find in someone else what I found in you

What I failed to realize is that you can not be replaced

When two hearts are one, none can separate them,

no matter how much I try to move forward..

If he would try to touch my hand, it would chill me

I couldn’t look in his eyes…

Because I couldn’t find my reflection

You hold the key that locks these golden chains around my heart

I need your kiss, your touch, and the love only we share

But I have no answers…

Because though we are apart in distance

our hearts couldn’t be closer

So I will stay alone with your memory

Because I can’t live a life with someone else that was only meant for us

I pray that one day you find your way back to me

You will find me where you left me…. Alone

There You Are

When I read your old letters, my tears always flow

Should I believe the words I now read today?

They used to be so clear with intent

Now I question if you still mean them

Do you think I can no longer feel you?

Circumstances unraveled our relationship

They can not be glued back together

but have been put back together differently

You try hard to pretend we are fine

though I still feel your deep resentment

But good memories still remain here in my heart

as sounds of our laughter peek through at times

And as I drift off to sleep, there you are.

Kristy Raines was born Kristy Rasmussen, in Oakland, California, on April 9, 1957. Kristy is a poet, writer, freelance journalist, and advocate for human rights internationally. She has received many literary awards and humanitarian recognition certificates.

She is most known internationally for her unique style of writing. Kristy has recently launched her first poetry book, titled, “The Passion Within Me”, and is awaiting the launch of  her second self-published book written with respected poet Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai of India, of Epistolary Poems, titled, “I Cross My Heart from East to West, Volume One” on Valentine’s Day on Amazon.  Kristy is also working on her first two fantasy books titled, “Princess and The Lion”, and, “Rings, Things, and Butterfly Wings”.  

Kristy also writes short stories for children and song lyrics.

Quarantine

I don’t have the knowledge to create a vaccine

I don’t have the capacity to donate financially

I don’t have the strength to volunteer in the frontline

All I have

Is the patience to stay at home as much as possible

Is the perseverance to make do with whatever I have

Is the desire to learn something new each day to pass time

Is the contentment that I can be just safe in isolation

Freedom comes with responsibility

If I can’t do anything to help, I can at least try not to be a part of the problem.

Moon

If only the Moon is greater

A celestial with much power

All the planets swimming in milk

Warmed by Sun inside black silk

May your reflected light shine

Against the drunkness of wine

Uncover the hidden secret line

Each great ball that mutely whine

Open up each soul to perceive

Let no word nor act to deceive

Purge out anger and fear to leave

Shield against any evils to receive

Ambitious greed to seal away

No confusion led out to sway

Only compassion here to stay

If Moon has power in her ray

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

Safarova Charos was born on September 23, 2008, in Shahrisabz district, Qashqadaryo region. Despite her young age, she stands out among her peers. Charos is passionate about literature and art and has achieved numerous prestigious awards to date. In 2023, she won a medal and certificate in an art competition held in the Republic of Kazakhstan. In November 2023, her poetry and story collection titled “Atirgul” (“The Rose”) was published in the field of literature. Additionally, her poems were featured in the 2024 poetry and story collection titled “Sparks of Hope.”

weather wind white woman magic snow squall winter fields 

it’s cold by the window. I should move from it. but it’s nice, the view, w/the white earth for the snow and the blue sky yes, a stand of evergreens watching the entire world out there also. white, green, blue. nature wins. even when it’s a bit plain. it has more than the current fashion and gossip. it’s not a surface -level type. the snow rests on the ever faithful wild sumac, the branches of trees reaching out to one another, some awaiting and then assisting and others asking for help. or, is it that the two main ones there are trying to rise fully and together for a painter, a landscape artist w/an easel, to paint their picture? could be. could be. we don’t know everything, you know? the power ceases. probably do to the wind storms wild and furious. I told the white lady. she follows the weather. ‘Hopefully it will go back on,’ she says. and just then it clicks on. I ask her if she has magic, if she performed magic. she says no, but like the sumac trees, I say one never knows,- even if she didn’t know. other levels of existence. maybe in one she is a white witch, who helps people and problems, a healer. white girl magic.

instead she says, ‘On the country roads, because there are long places with no buildings and just fields, the snow gets carried by the wind sometimes and so much, you can hardly see.’ I can see it. in the mind’s eye and also memory, for I’d seen it before several times. wild. maybe just somewhere in the distance a wooden barn on old concrete form. In one place there was a river down the way that followed the road for a bit, and not much else, not much else but that river. what would it have been like to live around those parts? in the summer, and on road trips, people would idealize the areas…and that’s a natural tendency when the birds are singing and a green field pastoral stretches out like a welcoming blanket made by God. but the winter. that would be another story. ice. isolation. and when hills are there somewhere, how to navigate them before the snow ploughs?- and there is less light,- oh many I would think take all our series of electric light for granted. the winter can be bleak. one would have to think of happy things, however silly.

yes happy colourful things. a can of sliced peaches. those things are good but must be loaded with sugar. the sign from a long time ago of two flowers, that spirit showed me, one saying, ‘Swap a smile, trade some cheer,’ and the other continuing, ‘let’s be happy, while we’re here.’ or good sweaters and cotton blankets. novels read that brought the reader into the good and right world of characters and climates. candles. scented candles. music. what else?- what artifacts and cloths, what phenomena and practices to fight off winter and it’s force? maybe the white woman that didn’t practice magic but inadvertently had magic about her, knew. field barn sky. cold long earth. snow squalls. power outages. the deep red of the twelve-month sumac. dreams of the sea, salted and warm, its meandering waves kissing the sands, rolling in with a forever way. that’s a long term relationship certainly, the sand and the sea, the sea and the sand. longer than ‘long,’ but actually ancient. even might as well call such a thing, ‘eternal.’ 

bubblewrap innuendo


prime delivery

my latent desires listed

on the gift receipt


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer


~


paperclip mudbath


just-finished manuscript

wine stains

camouflage the tears


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer


~


fate donation


chronic illness

i gift my suffering

to the allopaths


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer



~


soapstone 


tattered loofah

the jagged edges

of my heart


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer



~


pheromone subsistence


third anniversary

he expresses 

the cat’s anal glands


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer


~


every separate pine needle


collective fate

we form a tattered tapestry

atop the forest floor


Heidi McIver/Kelly Sauvage Moyer

G E M B U N [1-3 or 1-4] [pronounced Gem-Boon]

A Gembun is made up of either a one-word first link or anything up to one sentence, to be capped by a haiku of up to four lines.

The Gembun has to include an element of suggestion in either the opening sentence, the haiku or in both. It was created by ai li on the 12th of June 1997, inspired by Larry Kimmel’s TIBUN.

Friends and Family

I often think about my faith and where it comes from in my life. It’s God’s grace that has been given to me.

We all have a place in God’s heart. I discovered my place at an early age. It was not only the circumstances of the inner city that led me to seek Him. It was something internal. There was a longing to be with Him. This was manifested by my experience of my foster mother Dee always speaking about God and Jesus. I only knew that God existed to me.

Now, 60-plus years later, my seeking is over. God is present in me. He was always there, and His Holy Son Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Finally, all the decades of knowing that I had been spared. Now, I have devotion to living fully in Him. The world no longer has me captured.

I turned to second Timothy 2-3, which gives me comfort knowing that I’m in Him and not the world of man. There’s a place and confidence of being saved to live in the Lord. Therefore, my faith and devotion have been sealed in my being. Each moment, I turn to Him because it’s always been natural to seek Him, and now I’m with Him here on earth.

May He be given glory for eternity.

To Everyone In My Life

As I reflect on God’s Mercy, there’s great gratitude and comfort, knowing that God’s Presence has always been with me. Now, knowing that my kidney function is declining, dialysis is a gift from God to extend my life. There’s nothing more for me than to be grateful.

I’m experiencing a renewed relationship with Christ Jesus as in childhood. It’s of great comfort to recognize that my purpose is to serve God.

I’m writing this while having treatment. The world is fading, leaving me to experience the greatness of creating. So, it is a blessing to have dialysis because it’s God’s gift of life to live.